Mad Season
by Majokai Yukiko
Summary: BradSchu. It was a mad season, but for some, it was madder than they could handle. Rating for mature themes


Mad Season

By Majokai Yukiko
    
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    A/N: Just a note to the rest, I had wanted this fic to be a one-shot right from the beginning but I had never found the time to finish it at one go. That's why I had posted it up as a series at first. Here's the entire fic compressed into a one-shot and if it doesn't flow, do tell me so that I can improve when I write my other fics. Full author's note to be found at the end of the fic.
    
    =========
    
    Looking through your window, a million miles from me
    
    My ears are bleeding from the silence, echoing like rain
    
    I cannot see, leaping from your window, the fall to set me free.
    
     A leap of faith is all I ask. 
    
    Remove myself from all that used to be. 
    
    Now I'm here for all to see, everything torn out of me, too late to drown in all my doubt. 
    
    Too much too
    
    Late to sort things out: when the clock is
    
    Ticking. A twisted face I see, my sight is blinded
    
    By the darkness, it doesn't mean a fucking thing to me, turning from my window. 
    
    Nothing fazes me
    
    I built this perfect little hellhole. 
    
    It seems to be the perfect place for me, now I'm here for all to see. 
    
    Everything torn out of me, too late
    
    To drown in all my doubt too much too late to
    
    Sort things out

~ Here, Gravity Kills

They always knew they were unique, special...unlike the others. But little had they known how...unusual one of them was. The child of darkness lay there waiting, for his father to find him and then he would return back to wherever he had came from. Back to where he had belonged...with the blood of his loved stained on his hands. 

He was an unclean creature, descendant of the night. If there were ever a demon on Earth, he would be the one. No mistake, no question. Just him. 

Everything started off as just a simple mission for Schwarz. A far too simple mission for them to even believes in. They had been given the task of killing the infamous drug lord who had been pitching himself against Estet. There was no need for them to remember his name, for only a fool would even think about going against the cult and fools do not deserve a second mention. 

What they had not known about the mission was that between the drug lord and them was an entire army of sixty thousand infantry soldiers. A rather small number on its own, but if you add to that number just one more fully equipped military base, that would be a totally different question all together. 

_Crawford, Prodigy and Berserker had already gotten out of the building. We have got to hurry up. _

The American loaded another magazine into his gun and turned towards his teammate on his side. His mind quickly coming up with ways to escape but only to rule them out one by one when another line of soldiers appear into sight. 

_Crawford!_

Schuldich cursed loudly, not caring who might hear him although that possibility was almost down to zero with the deafening parade of gunfire in the starless night. Never in his life in Schwarz had he even been through such shame. Escape? Schwarz was the most feared name in the underworld, bringing even the richest and most powerful man to his knees just by the mention of them. Never had they ran away from a fight, or even have to do so. Even if they had refused to stay throughout the showdown, like the many incidents with Weiß, they did it with style. Leaving this place with less than 20% of the total human population dead, the target still alive and the base still nicely standing on flat ground was an utter disgrace. Not to forget, there were always their blood and bruises to add to their already pathetic state. 

_Schuldich, stop dreaming and..._

The German felt someone bang against him from behind causing him to fall forward onto the ground. A muffled cry of pain and the feel of something wet trickling down the side of his head. He raised a hand to touch the liquid, a feeling of dread surfacing up his mind. The gunfire continued, but to Schuldich, it was as if everything was set to slow motion when his eyes registered the familiar red color of what he had in his hand. 

Blood...and it was not his...

Crawford fell to the ground, mentally scolding Schuldich for his carelessness and lack of concentration. The blood from the wound on his arm was seeping through the sleeve of his white Armani suit. The pain caused a momentary lethargy in his brain before he could focus his eyes on the redhead beside him, down on his knees and hugging himself. Cobalt eyes widened when the telepath turned around to look at him. 

Emerald eyes were misted with what could only be tears, his lower lip quivering and trying to form coherent words in vain. Crawford was shocked when he recognized the emotion Schuldich was feeling. The same emotion he had seen in his victims when he was only a lowly ranked killer in Estet. Fear. 

_Schuldich was...afraid. _

Brad Crawford made a pointless struggle to get up on his feet, but the fast flow of blood only served to further aggravate his condition. 

_I must not faint now. Not when we are in enemy's ground and very near the brink of death. Not now..._

And he fainted. 

+++

_The darkness...it was going for him. Very near...its claws mauling at his face as he lost control over his own body. He saw his hands reaching out for a figure at the end of the dark room, naked and chained to the wall. Was this how his victims felt when he took control over their minds? Was it fear or shame that they felt? Or both? _

_One hand went for the left shoulder. With a 'pop' sound, he dislocated the arm. And the same thing went for the right. _

_Tears continued to fall. He felt like a puppet controlled by strings, waiting for the puppeteer's next command, doing everything to fit his wishes. Like a doll. _

_The next command was to go for the eyes. He could not see his victim's face in the darkness but that was not the problem. Somewhere out there was a pair of cold hands guiding his fingers to where the eyeballs were supposed to be. A thick slimy liquid covered his fingers as the young man dug the eyeballs out of their sockets. _

_The darkness lifted, greeting him was a clear mind for him to accept the reality. His hands were bloody, the red liquid dripping with deliberate slowness to form a puddle on the floor. Lifeless pupils stared back at him from the eyeballs he had removed barehanded. He knew the victim..._

_He looked up and knew exactly who it was..._

+++

A pale hand reached out, partially blocking out the bright light in the room. 

"I'm still alive..."

"It's not so easy to die, leader." Crawford turned his head to the direction of the voice, seeing a Japanese young man holding out a tray with a bowl on it. He recognized the teenager as Naoe Nagi, the youngest member of Schwarz, otherwise known as Prodigy. 

"What happened after I blacked out?" The American asked, turning his head back to meet the ceiling. Somehow he felt a sense of disappointment when the boy entered. He was not someone he would want to see right now. 

But who else would it be? Not that he would appreciate it if it were the Irish madman who had entered with something from his exquisite collection of sharp objects. Nagi was probably the only one sensible enough to bring him something nutritional.

"Seeing that you and Schuldich had not managed to escape after some time, we rushed in again deflating some bullets heading for you two and got the two of you out of the base." 

Yes, of course. Schuldich. How could he even forget about the irritating smirking German? But there was still a memory gap he had not filled up. A dream about Schuldich...what was it about?

"Where's Schuldich?" Crawford asked, his eyes narrowing the minute he saw the change in expression on the Japanese's face. 

"He's...alive...but not exactly well."

"What do you mean?" Another question fired almost immediately. 

"We had to put him in a straightjacket."

+++

The man Crawford saw in the white room was nothing like how he had perceived him to be. Never had Schuldich shown a single tinge of fear in his emerald eyes, never had he allow his object of vanity, his hair, to go messy, not shiny like how he used to keep it. The man he saw in the white room was certainly NOT Schuldich. 

"Nagi, what happened?" The American tore his eyes away from the small window on the metal door, his ears blocking out the continuous dull thud made by Schuldich hitting his head against the padded wall. 

"He was screaming when you blacked out at the base. Most of the soldiers were knocked out by the intensity of thoughts Schuldich was firing out unconsciously. After we brought the both of you back, Schuldich ran to the nearest wall and knocked his head against it. That's what happened." 

Nagi made his report with as little emotion as he could master. Just like how Crawford was feeling, Nagi had never seen the German looking or behaving like this before. He was always the one most emotionally detached from his missions and targets, like an animal that prefers playing with its food before eating. The cruel smirk that hung on his lips when his victims looked at him in terror and hatred, the disbelief of being betrayed by the one they had willingly trusted. 

Crawford was the logical member who gets the job done fast and clean. Nagi does whatever that was necessary. Farferello tortured his victims in the name of hurting God. But Schuldich...the only term that could be used to describe him would be pure evil. To see Lucifer himself being slowly destroyed by the dark was disturbing, even to the most unemotional of all living beings. 

Crawford unlocked the door to the mental cell where they used to lock Farferello in, pushing away all cries of disapproval from the Japanese boy and walked in. He closed the door behind him and gestured for Nagi to go about his own business. He needed to talk to Schuldich...alone. 

+++

Schuldich looked up when he heard the sound of the door unlocking. His dark pupils dilated and empty, his mouth slightly open, giving him an almost dead look. Almost, but close. 

Crawford closed the distance between the man and him. Kneeling down before the telepath, he reached out a hand to brush Schuldich's hair to a neater state. The old Schuldich would throw a fit when anyone touches his hair but this current one only sat there, oblivious to Crawford's presence. 

Crawford pushed a stray strand behind the German's ear, his usual shrewd eyes now gentle and full of concern. He had never felt this way before; he had never felt so afraid and worried for this man. He had never been so disturbed by the fact that Schuldich have a high chance of remaining in this state forever. But to think about it, Schuldich had never been like this. 

The German had THE talent to irritate him to no end, starting from the time they met in the Estet training centre for clairvoyants: Rosenkreüz. But fear was never the feeling he felt when he was around this man. It was something else, something warmer...and more comfortable...like trust. 

_Young Brad Crawford stared fearfully down the empty hallway, imagining all sorts of monsters that would jump out at every turn. A sudden amused jingle of laughter could be heard from behind. _

_"Hey pal, don't worry. The monsters won't hurt you if you are with me."_

_Brad turned around and saw an orange-haired young boy, younger than himself, standing there with one hand on his hip. _

_"And why will that be so?" He asked, needing of something to reassure himself with. _

_There came a lopsided grin. "Because I'm scarier than they are."_

_"I'm not scared of you."_

_"Then you shouldn't be scared of monsters then."_

Schuldich was aware of the warm hand caressing his face; aware of the comfort and peace the hand was bringing him. At the brief moment, he was not himself anymore. His whole world was revolving around the warmth. He closed his eyes and leant into the touch. 

"It's enough," he heard the man say. "You've been through enough. You don't have to hide anymore. You don't have to kill anymore." Schuldich snuggled more into the loose embrace. 

"Not after you killed me."

+++

It was a mad season for all...for some, it was just madder than usual. 

Blood...it kept flowing...staining the ground in crimson glory...there was no way to stop it, no way at all.... just let it flow...let it go...

Sin...they just kept accumulating...listen! Can't you hear the sorrowful cries of the dead when the wind blows? They were asking you, demanding for a reason of their death...and you have no answer for them...let it flow, let it go...

There was nothing you can do about it. 

Dirtied, stained, sinful...beauty and the cycle go on.... love, hatred, and envy...murder.... and the cycle continues...

The Irishman watched in fascination the light that was reflected of his blade...lightly stroking the metal with a lover's touch. He was oblivious to the world around him...and for all he knew...there was no longer a world around him. He knew somebody was crying...or perhaps more than one of them...and they were in the same house as he was...only that his heart was still beating and theirs were no longer doing so. 

The dead victims of the darkness were back to haunt, to haunt the man who had taken their lives, steering them away from the planes of life with a smile...and there they saw, with their ghostly sneer, the murderer in white and hearing their thoughts. Hearing the thoughts of the dead...for he himself was no longer living. 

His red hair was the color of the sun, but he was far from it. Crimson would have suit him better...the color of blood...the same shade that had stained this room long ago.  He was guilt. Guilt was he. So…why the tears after all these years of living in the dark?

Schuldich…

A child was crying silently in the other room, the room he used to be in. But had anyone ever heard his pleas for help? Had God ever reached out his hand to touch those who fell? It was up to the filth and ugliness of fallen angels to bring out God's beauty and power. They loved Him, all of them do. All the lost sheep desperately looking for their shepherd, looking up to Him, singing praises of Him, never really stopping to think that it was Him who had really landed them in that state. 

Have **you** ever seen sheep moving in a herd? They follow wherever the leader of the herd bring them, even if it led them onto the railroad with a train approaching. Those sheep died believing that their leader had brought them to the safest place possible. Sheep are low intellectual creatures, and in some ways…so are humans. 

Farferello tasted the blood in his mouth, his knife had made another cut across his lips but yet he felt no pain. Farferello was not a replacement for Jay. He was just a living corpse walking and searching for revenge. 

What are you then, Schuldich? Devils do not cry, but you did. If you were only a lost sheep, then wait for your shepherd to lead you back to Eden then. 

+++

Schuldich never liked roses. He found them to be too red, too flashy, too violent, and too clichéd. That was why he had never wanted to receive roses from anyone in his entire life. 

Lilies, maybe. White, pure, and clean. Everything that he was not. The last thing he need was for the constant reminded of his filthy past to be anywhere within his sight. 

Orchids? Unique, small and sweet. But they die too easily. Too weak, unable to withstand the harsh reality of life. He would have died on the streets long ago if he were like these orchids. Frogs never turn into princes. That much, his mother had taught him. Good enough, that was probably his only memories of his childhood, not that it was anything worth remembering. 

Forget-me-nots then…they remain in their original color even after they died. Deceptive, just like the way he was. 

He was a dancer. A stripper in a gay pub in Berlin. He remembered the bright lights on him, soaking his beauty and wildness. He was an animal, impossible to tame. But he managed. He always did. 

That was before Schwarz, if he remembered clearly. He was only a child then, but a beautiful one nonetheless. His body itself attracted large crowds of women and men alike, to the pub. He was an asset too valuable to lose. But still a whore to the minds of others. He heard their jeers as well that he could feel their lust. All had looked down on him…except for…the very one who visited that pub every night, with a bouquet of forget-me-nots in his arms. 

_If I had died tonight, would you have loved me then?_

_Perhaps._

He would reply to the question. He had no time for anyone who was not willing to pay. 

Full stop. 

But…he was an exception. He would come to the pub every night, watching him dance and later waiting patiently in the backstage for him to change. The bouquet of forget-me-nots was pale comparison to the brilliant roses he received from other men who watched him. 

He never liked roses. 

Schuldich never knew his name. But it was always a blissful silence in his head when he was with him. He called him 'Stranger', but in reality, Schuldich had really thought that he was his guardian angel in disguise. 

He never touched him. Every time he drove them to his apartment in the ritzy part of the city, all he did was to have a friendly chat with Schuldich. Every time except for once. 

They talked about everything. From books to the latest movies in town to their childhood…Stranger always would drive him back before dawn breaks when all creatures of the night had to return to their nest. 

He only touched him once. And Schuldich killed him. 

He had not meant to, but the lust and love the other man had felt for him made it impossible to hold up his mental shields. The sudden mental invasion had killed his love. 

Schuldich smiled. 

He was guilt and guilt was he. It was just another man. 

Just…another man… 

Only that this one had loved him. 

+++

Crawford was sitting in the padded cell with a book in his lap. It was _Ivanhoe_ this time. A book about chivalry…rather dull, wasn't it? But Nagi doubt if the person he was reading the story to have even heard a word he said. 

Nagi turned the lock and walked away. 

Farferello was sharpening his knife when Nagi entered the living room, after he locked the door of the mental ward and made sure the man inside was properly secured in a straight jacket.     

The Japanese boy picked up the journal he had left on the kitchen counter and continued reading. Schuldich's journal when he was in Rosenkreüz. Farferello got up from the table and left the room, returning with a piece of newspaper cutting in his hands. 

_Dear Diary, _

_I saw the new boy at the training centre today. Stoic, tall, wear glasses, dark hair, blue eyes. He looked so much like Stranger. Would he bring me flowers? Perhaps not…he's afraid of monsters under the bed…his name is Brad Crawford, I think. Dumb name, isn't it? Oh well, at least he has one. _

_I don't know, Father. If you had decided to send me another chance at happiness, I might not want to accept it. If you really want me to be happy, send me where Stranger is. And this time, perhaps I can apologize. _

_Schuldich_

Nagi closed the book, intrigued by the inside world of his fallen teammate. His attention then turned to the piece of paper the Irishman was slicing with his knives. 

There was a photo on the article. 

_In Loving Memory of Schuldich._

_May he rest with the angels._

~fin~

Author's Note:

Hi, Majokai here. Finally back from a few months of hibernating from fandom. A reply to those who had emailed me, wondering about my sudden disappearance: no, I've not stopped writing fanfiction, only that I had other things on my list of priorities. For example, that crap Social Studies test I had today.  

To answer whatever suspicions readers might have of this fic, (I do agree that there are some unexplained parts in the plot) Schuldich fell in love with someone that had looked scarily like Crawford before he joined Estet. And when the two were consummating their love, Schuldich lost control of his mind powers, accidentally killing the other man. That's why he freaked when Crawford took a bullet for him. 

As for Crawford, he realized that he had deep emotions for Schuldich only after the telepath went insane. And after Schuldich died from his guilt, Crawford could not accept the fact and refused to face up to reality. He wanted to stay in the time when he would read to Schuldich in the mental cell every day without fail. It was Crawford who went crazy and had to be restrained in the straight jacket at the end. 

Many thanks to Saturn de wicked for helping me with some of the ideas in here. (The Schuldich in the mental cell and Crawford visiting him part was from her!) And of course, my loving computer. 

With loves, 

Majokai Yukiko.

©Copyright 2002 Majokai Yukiko  
This fanfiction is an original work of the author, although the characters belongs to Takehito Koyasu's Weiß Kreuz©. 

Here Lyrics and music © Gravity Kills and associated parties.

Please seek permission before archiving. All Rights Reserved


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